Mangey Mo' knelt over the dead Uni-Stag and swore to find the men who killed it. The great beast lay in the mud with its horn sawed off. Blood soaked its silver coat. Mo' had spent years hunting poachers through Bloodbeast Grove, dragging their bones to the big sign where he caged them as warnings. He had sworn to guard this place and to burn down the cult that trained him to kill beasts like this one. His Ghost Pearl eye throbbed. Through it he saw the killers' trail glow red, a stain of evil smeared across the trees. Vaelyx pressed close to his side. The blue hyena-beast sniffed the Stag's wound and whined low. Her scorpion tail curled tight. Mo' rested a hand on her neck. "Easy, girl," he said. "We follow the stink." She howled once, and the sound cracked the quiet like a whip. Then she bolted, nose down, and Mo' ran after her with his rusty machete bare in his fist. The red trail led to a stone fort built into the rocks. A stolen horn glowed above the gate, mounted like a trophy, its neon light pulsing. Mo' knew it at once. The Uni-Stag's horn. Campfires burned below it. Rough men moved in the firelight, counting their spoils. His Ghost Pearl flared white hot. Every man there blazed with evil. Vaelyx growled, ready to charge. Mo' held her back. "Not yet," he whispered. "There are too many." He counted six poachers and two flintlock pistols. One blade would not be enough. Then a shape rose from the dark beside him. Black and white fur, a scarred face, yellow eyes that did not blink. Gorro. The paleon stood taller than a man at the shoulder. Locals swore the half-panda beast ate only berries, yet feared his claws more than any predator. Mo' had never seen him this close. The creature looked at the glowing horn, then at the dead-Stag blood still fresh on Mo's hands. "They took one of my grove's own," Gorro rumbled. The words came slow and deep. "I will open the gate." Mo' did not argue. He nodded. Gorro lowered his scarred head and charged. The wooden gate burst apart. Poachers shouted and grabbed their guns. Mo' rushed in behind the beast, machete swinging. Vaelyx leaped, tail striking, and a man fell screaming. Gorro crushed two more against the stone. A pistol fired and missed. Mo' cut the shooter down. In moments the fort fell silent. Mo' climbed to the glowing horn and pulled it free. The neon light died in his hands. Six poachers lay dead or broken. But one wicker-and-bone apron hung on the wall, marked with ash. A Sharptooth sigil. The cult's houndsman had been here. These men worked for the Carnivora, and the cult now knew Mo' was hunting. Gorro met his eye. "The grove will remember this," the paleon said. Mo' gripped the cold horn and understood the hunt had only grown larger.